Hot Fuss
by CruorLuna
Summary: A collection of Jibbs oneshots based loosely around lyrics to songs by ‘The Killers.’ Rating for chapter 4 ONLY.
1. Smile Like You Mean It

**Title: **Hot Fuss  
**Author:** Alison (CruorLuna)  
**Rating:** M (for chapter 4 only)  
**Category:** NCIS: Naval Criminal Investigative Service  
**Genre:** Mostly angst, but some romance too – different in different oneshots  
**Pairings:** Jibbs, naturally  
**Characters:** Jenny and Jethro, and some cameos by the others throughout the series  
**Summary:** A collection of Jibbs oneshots based loosely around lyrics to songs by 'The Killers.'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything you recognise from the show.

**A/N:** Okay so this is the first of a collection of Jibbs oneshots. They're not going to be songfics, but they're all loosely based on lyrics to songs by The Killers. And yes, I do know that not all of these songs were on the album 'Hot Fuss,' but I think it's a suitable title for Jibbs. They can be read as chapters, but work as standalones too. This one is based on the song 'Smile Like You Mean It,' which if you don't know and want to hear, you can find on everyone's favourite video site. Lyrics are included at the start just to give you an idea anyway, but they're not really part of the fic, just the inspiration for it.

* * *

**Smile Like You Mean It**

_Save some face  
__You know you've only got one  
__Change your ways  
__While you're young_

_Boy, one day you'll be a man  
__Girl, he'll help you understand_

_Smile like you mean it  
__Smile like you mean it_

_Looking back  
__At sunsets on the Eastside  
__We lost track  
__Of the time_

_Dreams aren't what they used to be  
__Some things slide by so carelessly_

_Smile like you mean it  
__Smile like you mean it_

_And someone is calling my name  
__From the back of the restaurant  
__And someone is playing a game  
__In the house that I grew up in  
__And someone will drive her around  
__Down the same streets that I did  
__On the same streets that I did_

_Smile like you mean it  
__Smile like you mean it  
__Smile like you mean it  
__Smile like you mean it_

_Oh no, oh no no no  
__Oh no, oh no no no_

* * *

Jenny Shepard smiled slightly as she looked down on her agency from on high. Her teams were all working hard, whether on paperwork, theorising or out in the field, and the atmosphere was electric. Her eyes, as usual, drifted towards one team more than the others. The major crimes response team, minus one, were gathered in front of the plasma screen, bantering back and forth and trading motives for their current double homicide case. She smiled sadly to herself as she watched them. She saw a little of herself in each of them.

Tony DiNozzo laughed aloud and made some cocky comment or other as he squared up to the Probie of the team. Tony's charm made him instantly likeable, and his instincts nearly always led him right. He was loyal almost to a fault, and – though Jenny would never give him the satisfaction of admitting it – a naturally handsome man. He was a complete movie fanatic, always ready with a joke or quip to lighten the atmosphere, and would protect his friends and colleagues with his life. Jenny watched him now as he called Tim McGee by at least four different nicknames in the space of thirty seconds, simultaneously disproving the other man's theory, and giving him a compliment. She shook her head with an internal chuckle. Tony was the life and soul of the party, even when nobody else felt up to joking, and it was here that she recognised glimmers of herself. Once upon a time, Jenny had been a lot more relaxed than she was now. She had laughed more, cried more, and generally let her emotions show a lot more often. She hadn't been afraid to be herself or worried about appearances – she had just lived her life the way she wanted to, making the most of every minute. She had always looked for the silver lining, even when it was more of a dull grey, and she had tried to keep up her co-workers' spirits during tough cases. Promotion after promotion had brought stress, and the light relief had faded. She hoped Tony wouldn't fall into the same trap.

Then there was Tim. He was just as sharp as Tony, but less confident in his own abilities. Jenny could relate to that too. When she had first started at NCIS, she had been a bag of nerves. All she had wanted was to prove herself – and as a woman in a man's world, she had had her work cut out for her. Tim had much the same problem. He was an MIT graduate, top of his class, and knew more about technology than anybody else Jenny had ever met. As a computer whiz, Tim was always fighting to prove he knew more than just how to reprogram a cell phone. His first kill had shaken him to the core, leaving him wondering whether he was capable of being a field agent. He was sensitive, more so than DiNozzo, but he could stand his ground when the occasion called for it, and he never let his personal feelings interfere with his work, no matter how he felt. He was a fierce friend, something Jenny knew his colleagues admired about him, and he was a hell of an investigator, when he wasn't worrying about measuring up. He seemed to be a lot more confident in himself now, though. One day, she had no doubt, he would be the one sitting behind her desk, with _Director_ on his office door. And he would be more than up to the job, Jenny was confident. He just had to remember never to lose that flicker of self-doubt. Arrogance and over-assurance were sure-fire ways to get yourself killed in their line of work. She knew that all too well.

Her gaze flicked over Tim's head now, coming to rest on the third team member. Another woman striving to prove herself, Ziva David had long since earned Jenny's respect and friendship. She was trained as an assassin, more skilled in combat than any other agent Jenny had ever had the privilege of working with, and more dangerous with less at her disposal than any of them. She was exceedingly careful with her emotions, rarely letting anybody in, and protecting her heart against the world. Jenny was sorry to say that that was perhaps Ziva's and her greatest similarity. She too was afraid of being hurt, and would shut out those who cared for her at the risk of losing them in order to keep her emotions intact. She had even been known to walk away from true happiness for fear that it might be taken from her unexpectedly. Ziva could be much the same. But when she did open up, she was not as prickly as she appeared. She had a quick temper, certainly, and a strong will, but she was also funny in her own way, and caring, deep down. She knew what it took to survive, and survive she would, for herself and for her friends. Ziva's loyalty was not a right – it was a privilege, one that Jenny was proud to have earned. She had learned to control her temper, and was becoming an extremely skilled investigator. She would go far at NCIS, Jenny was sure. And she would hopefully do it with a little more caution than Jenny had.

And then, thought Jenny with a small sigh, there was the fourth member of the team. Her eyes took in the empty chair; the trash can full of discarded polystyrene coffee cups; the noticeable lack of any personal items adorning the desk. Leroy Jethro Gibbs had always been a strange man, but he was a damn good man nonetheless. She probably had the most in common with him of all. They were both determined, possibly too much so. They both lived for their jobs, and saw the team as the closest thing they had to a family. They had both lost their families a long time ago. Both had pursued those who had taken their families to the ends of the earth – to death. They were both lonely. And they were both unhappy. Jenny lowered her head, looking at her folded hands on the railing in front of her. Jethro was her oldest friend, if she could really call him a friend any more. He knew and understood her better than anybody else, and as much as he might drive her crazy, she didn't know what she would do without him. He was the only one who could pull her back from the edge when she strayed from the straight and narrow. He knew how to make her see reason when she was blinded by fury or despair. He could read her expressions well enough to stop her saying things she would later regret before she even opened her mouth. If Jenny were honest with herself, she would have to say that he had been the love of her life. They had hurt each other with words and actions over the past nine years, and yet they kept coming back for more. Jethro was definitely a strange man … but she had to be just as bad.

The first time Jenny had met Leroy Jethro Gibbs, she had been sceptical, to say the least. She had been recruited into NCIS for her sharp mind and keen perception, and she was somewhat less than impressed at being pawned off on some 'ancient chauvinist who couldn't see five feet in front of him.' She cringed internally as she thought about some of the things she had said to Tom Morrow when he showed her Gibbs' file. When the man himself had walked through the door, nothing could have prepared her for her reaction, she didn't think. He was older than her, but not by nearly as much as she had expected. His hair was greying even back then, but in the attractive salt-and-pepper way that most men would kill for. And his eyes. Those were what had really done her in. He had looked directly into her soul, or so it felt like, and offered her a hand and a rare, genuine smile. That probably helped in winning her over too, actually. His handshake had been firm and his answers just right during their conversation with Morrow, and she had left the office feeling more confident than she perhaps ought to have been.

As soon as they were in the elevator, he had flicked the emergency stop switch and turned to her, all business now. He had warned her that she was what he called the 'Probie' on the team, and yes, she was, in fact, going to be treated like a lackey by her co-workers, and yes, she should expect to be taunted and disregarded because she was a woman. She had been close to slapping him when he had reassured her that he made a point of intimidating all of his Probies, and would be making no exceptions based on gender. She had heard of equality in treatment before, but equal-opportunity hazing? She had been struck dumb. He had then informed her quite plainly that as long as she worked hard and was willing to learn, she should have no problems, at least with him, and that it was his job to keep the rest of his team in line. Somehow, she had believed him.

The Probie had eventually become part of the team – one of the gang. The Agent then became foreign operative, travelling Europe with her boss-turned-partner on covert operations for the Agency. Somewhere along that road, partner became friend, too. They lived the same lives, ate the same food and breathed the same air. Sometimes they cried together. They laughed together even more. They shared memories and tales; good times and bad. They got each other through the tough parts of the job, and were able to enjoy the victories together. And, eventually, something shifted between them. The joking became more heavily laced with innuendo; the brief touched stretched into eternities; the sideways glances turned into lingering looks. Their minds were so deeply connected that they didn't even need words to communicate. And finally, when the tension grew too great to resist, their bodies became connected, too. For months upon months they travelled the world, working together; sleeping together. What had started out as a fling in the heat of Marseilles soon became one of the most meaningful and important relationships of Jenny's life. They loved each other.

And then, she thought bitterly, then she had thrown away what she had. She had known she had something special with her onetime boss, but she hadn't wanted to acknowledge it. Falling in love with her mentor was not part of her five-point plan, and she would never have been able to rest without avenging her father, as she had set out to do. She had been alone ever since – alone with her job. Sure, there had been sex. There had been dates, and the occasional call back. But there had never been anyone consistent in her life since she had left Jethro behind. She had never had the 'time' for it. More likely was the explanation that she was too much of a workaholic to be much use in a relationship. She could easily put in the time, if she set her mind to it, but her heart would never be in it. Always, it would come back to her job – which agencies Gibbs had pissed off that day; why SecNav was breathing down her neck again; what families she would have to notify of a tragedy tomorrow. Her job was her life now, and she would protect it at all costs. She had proven that already, eight months previously, when she had informed the man she still loved that there could be nothing more than a professional relationship between them. She had done what was best for her, and she didn't regret it … at least, she wouldn't admit to regretting it.

Her eyes followed the silver-haired man as he slapped DiNozzo on the back of the head. His way of showing he cared, Jenny knew. He made a dry comment to McGee, and the younger man flushed. He had learned something, and yet he knew he was still respected. Ziva made a suggestion, and was ordered sharply to follow up on it without as much as a hint of praise. But giving her his approval of it as a viable theory was enough. This team needed Gibbs as much as he needed them – as much as Jenny needed all of them. She would always be their boss, and she doubted she would ever be able to break down that barrier and have them consider her a friend. But she was in a position to protect them, and if nothing else, she would do that, like a mother bear protecting her cubs. They were her family, even if they didn't realise it.

Jenny turned her back on the bullpen and walked briskly to her office, turning over thoughts of a new case in her mind. Her eyebrows drew together as she mused, and her assistant Cynthia stood up as she entered the outer office.

"Are you all right, Director?"

"Fine, Cynthia." Jenny smiled to reassure the younger woman, and it seemed to work. Cynthia nodded, looking relieved, and took her seat again. Jenny kept the smile plastered to her face as she entered her sanctuary, closing the door behind her and leaning against it for a moment. One of these days, she thought, the smile might have something real to hold it there. She would keep waiting, for now.


	2. Mr Brightside

**Title: **Hot Fuss  
**Author:** Alison (CruorLuna)  
**Rating:** M (for chapter 4 only)  
**Category:** NCIS: Naval Criminal Investigative Service  
**Genre:** Mostly angst, but some romance too – different in different oneshots  
**Pairings:** Jibbs, naturally  
**Characters:** Jenny and Jethro, and some cameos by the others throughout the series  
**Summary:** A collection of Jibbs oneshots based loosely around lyrics to songs by 'The Killers.'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything you recognise.

**A/N:** This is the second oneshot in the series, and I think there will be five or six in the collection when I'm done. This one is based on 'Mr Brightside' and the lyrics are included.

* * *

**Mr Brightside**

_Coming out of my cage  
__And I've been doing just fine  
__Gotta, gotta be down  
__Because I want it all  
__It started out with a kiss  
__How did it end up like this?  
__It was only a kiss  
__(It was only a kiss)_

_Now I'm falling asleep  
__And she's calling a cab  
__While he's having a smoke  
__And she's taking a drag  
__Now they're going to bed  
__And my stomach is sick  
__And it's all in my head__But she's touching his chest, now  
__He takes off her dress, now  
__Letting me go_

_I just can't look, it's killing me  
__They're taking control_

_Jealousy, turning saints into the sea  
__Swimming through sick lullabies  
__Choking on your alibis  
__But it's just the price I pay  
__Destiny is calling me  
__Open up my eager eyes  
__Cause I'm Mr Brightside_

_Coming out of my cage  
__And I've been doing just fine  
__Gotta, gotta be down  
__Because I want it all  
__It started out with a kiss  
__How did it end up like this?  
__It was only a kiss  
__(It was only a kiss)_

_Now I'm falling asleep  
__And she's calling a cab  
__While he's having a smoke  
__And she's taking a drag  
__Now they're going to bed  
__And my stomach is sick  
__And it's all in my head_

_But she's touching his chest, now  
__He takes off her dress, now  
__Letting me go_

_I just can't look, it's killing me  
__They're taking control_

_Jealousy, turning saints into the sea  
__Swimming through sick lullabies  
__Choking on your alibis  
__But it's just the price I pay  
__Destiny is calling me  
__Open up my eager eyes  
__Cause I'm Mr Brightside_

_I never  
__I never  
__I never  
__I never_

* * *

He didn't care. It was none of his business. She had left him a long time ago, and she could see whoever she wanted. But … but **him**? Why, of all people, did it have to be him? It shouldn't hurt, and he shouldn't want to punch the other man in the face, but he did. Why did the two people who had seen him at his most vulnerable have to spend so much time together? And why – **why** – did he have to feel like he had brought them together?

Todd Gelfand was a good man, and a good doctor. He had seen Jethro through his two most serious injuries; watched him deal with his deepest emotions; stood by his side while he coped with regret all over again. And from what Gibbs knew of him as a person – which, granted, was not much – he certainly seemed to be well-liked. He smiled a lot and laughed almost as much, and every time Jethro had seen him lately he had been the perfect gentleman: considerate, charming and helpful to the nth degree. Under any other circumstances, Jethro would have been thanking his lucky stars that someone he wanted only the best for had such a good man looking out for her. But these weren't, and he wasn't. And why not? Because it wasn't just someone he wanted the best for. It was **her**.

She wasn't just his boss, and she had never been just his subordinate – she was … well, she was Jen; sometimes Jenny, if he were feeling particularly vulnerable or emotional. She had never been Jennifer, and she most certainly would never be Director Shepard, at least not in his heart. And once upon a time, he might even have dared to say she was his.

The first time he had heard her name, he had cursed out the Director of NCIS. He didn't like to think of himself as sexist, but a female NCIS agent on his team? The idea had sent him into a fit. It wasn't that he expected her to be any less competent or qualified than any of his male agents, but bringing a woman into situations like the ones they were frequently thrown into seemed dangerous to him. In his mind he had pictured 'Jenny' as slight and naïve, in need of protection – something that would distract his team and waste precious time. How wrong he had been.

The first time they had met, he had taken one look at her and re-evaluated every biased conclusion he had drawn upon hearing her name. She wasn't weak, she wasn't naïve, and she most certainly didn't need protecting. She had no investigative experience, but she was witty and sharp, able to stand up for herself and determined to prove herself. He had admired her the second she had taken his proffered hand, shaking it with a strength he wouldn't have imagined her being able to possess, and scrutinised him through piercing, knowing eyes. She hadn't for one moment allowed him to think any less of her than he would have of a man, and if anything, that made him admire her even more than he would have anyway. He had felt her gaze upon him as he and Tom had gone over last-minute details and explained a few things to her, and knew she was observing him closely; sizing him up. She had intrigued him.

The first time he had got her alone, she had impressed him. They had entered the elevator after their first introduction and he had flipped the emergency stop switch, gauging her reaction. She was possibly the first person who didn't seem utterly bewildered; merely turning to him and raising an eyebrow as if to say '_All right, let me have it then._' And he had let her have it. He had told her that she was the Probie, and should be expected to be treated as such – he would never treat her worse for being a woman, but she **would** have to be prepared to deal with the same level of mockery that all beginners were subjected to at first. The rest of his team, he was sceptical about, but he had informed her in no uncertain terms that she shouldn't rise to it, and that his job was to keep them under control. She had simply nodded, almost as though this were quite expected, and said she would. And she had been true to her word, too. She had known when she needed to take a step back and leave him to discipline his subordinates, keeping her own nose clean but always making it clear that she could look after herself and wasn't intimidated by the others. He had respected that.

Out of respect had quickly been born trust – trust between two people who, on a daily basis, placed their lives in each other's hands. There were very few people in his life that Leroy Jethro Gibbs could truly say he trusted, but his colleagues were high on the list. And Jenny had been different, although he had tried not to show it. She had gotten under his skin somehow; she could read him far better than he liked, and she wasn't afraid to call him on the things she picked up on that others couldn't see. Her determination not to be afraid of him was new, but interesting, and it had been all too easy to fall into the trap of trusting her far more quickly than he should have. The easiness of their faith in one another slid readily into a strange camaraderie – he supposed he would call it a friendship, after a fashion. They didn't do the regular 'friend' things, like go to the movies or talk on the phone outside of work, but they had their own system, and it worked for them. While it was never talked about, it was also not surprising for him to come home after a tough case and find her in his basement, drinking bourbon from a mason jar and reading a book quietly in the corner. And it had become almost expected that when the roles were reversed; when something had gotten to her; that he would show up on her doorstep with takeout and bourbon and stay until she fell asleep. Then he would lock up her house on his way out with the key they never spoke about him having, and it wouldn't be mentioned again.

And then there had been Europe. Their lives had become interlaced in every way imaginable – they had lived together, worked together, eaten together … and eventually, they had slept together, too. It had happened gradually, with their usual banter slowly but surely turning into flirting, which in turn shifted into something more. The first time they had kissed had been in London, and then they hadn't spoken for three months. That had been difficult. But then when they ended up in Marseilles together, the sexual tension had boiled over, and by the second night they had been grabbing for one another like there was no tomorrow. From there on in, their relationship had become even more personal: extremely physical, and surprisingly emotional. He supposed her leaving had been for the best, although his brain couldn't seem to convince his heart of the fact. He had been dangerously close to making her into ex-wife number three, after all. Or maybe just wife number four. He supposed they would never know.

When she had walked back into his life, he had been blindsided. For a brief moment, he had let his guard down and as good as offered her another chance. He shouldn't have been surprised when she said no. After that moment of vulnerability – which he liked to blame on his emotional state after losing Kate, rather than on anything more embarrassing to do with Jen's effect on him – he had backed off, in most respects. Their playful banter had returned, yes, but he never asked for more. He was too proud, even when he saw the flare of lust that sometimes came over her when they were alone. He was familiar with the feeling. But his ego wouldn't let him ask again; not after being shot down so many times; and she never offered anything more than her sense of self-preservation would allow her to give freely. Their relationship had become as close to their previous 'friendship' as he supposed it would ever get. Before the explosion, anyway.

After he had been injured, his priorities had changed. He had woken up consumed by grief over a tragedy that he should have come to terms with long ago. He didn't think he would ever get over it. But waking up this time around, there had been someone there to hold his hand while he cried. He wasn't used to letting anyone in, and yet he had known from the moment he laid eyes on her that Jenny was already more than close enough for him to break down in front of her. His not knowing who she was seemed to have pushed her away, and straight into the arms of the – literally – nearest man: Dr Gelfand. And while Gibbs' memories of her, once they had returned, had left him cursing himself over far too many beers in Mexico, she seemed to have moved on. He could see it in the way she relaxed her posture around Gelfand; the way her smile actually reached her eyes when she spoke to him. If she was happy, he ought to be happy for her. But he wasn't, and he had an uneasy feeling that it wasn't anything to do with the man himself.

He waited until the good doctor had left, having just escorted her back from an unnecessarily long, in Gibbs' opinion, lunch date. He then grabbed the file he had finished an hour previously and ascended the staircase to her office, ignoring Cynthia as usual and barging straight in. She quirked an eyebrow at him, seeming not to be remotely irritated, but instead concealing a smirk. He frowned at the thought. If she was becoming more laid-back, it could only be as a result of happiness in her personal life. No, he decided, he most definitely did not like that one bit. She snapped her fingers, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"Jethro?" she called, watching him curiously. "Did you need something?"

"Reports," he said flatly, holding the folder out to her. She nodded and reached out, her fingertips brushing his as she took it from his hand. He heard her sharp intake of breath as she withdrew her fingers rapidly, and he resisted the urge to shake his hand out to lose the feeling of the spark that had passed between them. She composed herself quickly, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear and clearing her throat.

"Thank you," she said softly, and he merely nodded, turning to leave. He chanced a glance back over his shoulder just before pulling the door closed behind him, and saw the telltale flush creeping over her cheeks. He smirked to himself, closing the door fully and heading back towards the bullpen, a distinct spring to his step. Gelfand wouldn't last: he was sure of that now. And once he was sure the other man was out of the picture, then he would have his chance. Maybe seeing her with someone else was the push he needed, after all. He shook his head in amusement. Silver lining, indeed.

* * *

**A/N2:** So I know a lot of people probably thought I made no sense when I mentioned their first kiss being in London, and not Marseilles. I have my own ideas on how that could have gone, and they can be found in a oneshot called _Instinct_ that I'll be posting hopefully in the next week or so – so don't think I've gone mad: all will be revealed … watch this space!

Thanks – and please review!

Alison x


	3. When You Were Young

**Title: **Hot Fuss  
**Author:** Alison (CruorLuna)  
**Rating:** M (for chapters 4 and 5 only)  
**Category:** NCIS: Naval Criminal Investigative Service  
**Genre:** Mostly angst, but some romance too – different in different oneshots  
**Pairings:** Jibbs, naturally  
**Characters:** Jenny and Jethro, and some cameos by the others throughout the series  
**Summary:** A collection of Jibbs oneshots based loosely around lyrics to songs by 'The Killers.'  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything you recognise.

**A/N:** This is the third oneshot, based on the song 'When You Were Young.' Lyrics included at the start of the fic. This is dedicated to Laura, for putting up with my being … ridiculous, quite frankly! Thanks Laura :D

**When You Were Young**

_You sit there in your heartache  
__Waiting on some beautiful boy to  
__To save you from your old ways  
__You play forgiveness  
__Watch it now, here he come_

_He doesn't look a thing like Jesus  
__But he talks like a gentleman  
__Like you imagined  
__When you were young_

_Can we climb this mountain?  
__I don't know  
__Higher now than ever before  
__I know we can make it if we take it slow  
__Let's take it easy  
__Easy now, watch it go_

_We're burning down the highway skyline  
__On the back of a hurricane  
__That started turning  
__When you were young  
__When you were young_

_And sometimes you close your eyes  
__And see the place where you used to live  
__When you were young_

_They say the Devil's water it ain't so sweet  
__You don't have to drink right now  
__But you can dip your feet  
__Every once in a little while_

_You sit there in your heartache  
__Waiting on some beautiful boy to  
__To save you from your old ways  
__You play forgiveness  
__Watch it now, here he comes_

_He doesn't look a thing like Jesus  
__But he talks like a gentleman  
__Like you imagined  
__When you were young  
__When you were young_

_(Talks like a gentleman  
__Like you imagined)  
__When you were young_

_I said he doesn't look a thing like Jesus  
__He doesn't look a thing like Jesus  
__But more than you'll ever know  
_

* * *

She closed her eyes against the wave of nausea that washed over her. Her fingers tightened around the armrests of her chair and she swallowed thickly, blinking furiously as her stomach settled and her eyes began to sting. Brushing the backs of her hands over her cheekbones, she removed all trace of the telltale streaks on her cheeks; the only visible indication that she was anything other than angry at the day's events. Not that she wasn't angry - she was livid. She was more than livid; she was feeling distinctly murderous. Not only had they lost La Grenouille, but the CIA apparently knew of her interest in him. That was going to make things significantly more complicated from now on.

And perhaps worse still - Gibbs now knew, too. And he probably knew far more than he was letting on to her. He had always been able to read her like a book, even when everyone else saw her as secretive and mysterious. Not him. She didn't think he knew the reason behind her vendetta against Benoit, but she was equally sure that he was close to figuring it out. He knew it was personal, certainly. And given her little performance - or lack thereof - when Ziva had had him in her sights, it seemed that he had read more into her actions than she had anticipated at the time. Then again, her judgement had been … perhaps 'clouded' wasn't quite strong enough. More like it had gone on vacation. Lately it seemed like the holiday was in danger of becoming permanent.

The crazy thing was, she **knew** that she was being an idiot. Every time she sent DiNozzo on another mission, she metaphorically kicked herself. She knew that he was probably getting in over his head, but she justified it to herself constantly. It was for the 'greater good'; DiNozzo was a competent agent; he could use the experience. Somewhere inside, she knew that she was being selfish; that it was going to backfire; but she just couldn't seem to stop herself any more. She was _out of control_. Apparently, anyway.

She snorted to herself now, finding through her bitterness a moment to appreciate the irony of the situation. The duplicity of it all. Leroy Jethro Gibbs, the most vengeful man she had ever met, bar none, dared to criticise **her** for her determination to bring down one of the most powerful arms dealers in the world?! Ha! He was nothing more than a filthy hypocrite; a chauvinist. Because as much as he denied it, Jenny knew that deep down, Jethro was simply old-fashioned. It wasn't that he meant to treat her differently, or that he respected her any less because she was a woman – it was just that he couldn't help wanting to protect her. It had been sweet once. It still should be, she knew, and probably would be, if it didn't happen to be interfering with her mission. But it was, and so it wasn't.

And therein lay the other irony. Once upon a time, Jenny had loved the way that Jethro protected her. Sure, it had always gotten on her nerves slightly, but she had appreciated that he didn't want her to get hurt. She had enjoyed him showing, in his own way, that he really did care. For a man who didn't like to talk about how he felt, he certainly made up for it in other ways. And she had loved that about him, once upon a time. If she were totally honest with herself, Jethro Gibbs was the kind of man she – and every girl, she was sure – had dreamed of, a long time ago.

He was sweet, when he wanted to be. Kind and loving and gentle, although she was sure not many people would believe him capable of being any of those. But he was. He was also funny – hilarious, actually, when it suited him. Never when it would be an obvious joke, though. He didn't like to be predictable. And that had led to many spontaneous surprises for Jenny, back when they were together. On top of everything else, he didn't try to change her: one of her biggest fears in life. She was a woman in a man's world, and had enough work to do trying to prove herself professionally without having to worry about who she was personally. And Jethro, God love him, had made her feel so secure about who she was that while they were together, it had never entered her head to worry about it.

And then of course, there had been the physical side of things. Not just sex, by any stretch of the imagination – there had been so much more than that. When she woke up scared after a nightmare, he would pull her closer to him, and just hold her until she fell asleep again. She never had nightmares the second time around. And when they were watching one of their targets, in a restaurant or a bar, he would squeeze her hand across the table or rest his hand across the small of her back, reminding her that he was there, he was looking out for her, and she needed to relax. Watching silently from the shadows had never been her strong suit. She was all about the action, and Jethro had known just how to stop her before she jumped in headfirst. She supposed he probably still did, if tonight was any indication.

_This __**was**__ supposed to be a snatch, right? Or did you have something else in mind?_

Of course she'd had something else in mind. Of course he'd known that. Of course he hadn't had to tell her that he knew. And of course – of **course** – he had, once again, had to pull her back from the edge, telling her to watch her footing. And she knew she was dangerously close to falling. Tonight, she might well have done, had he not been there to remind her just how deep the pit was at her feet. Had she given into that temptation – just let those two little words slip over her lips … _shoot him_ … Her career would have been beyond over. NCIS would have been brought under investigation by everyone else in the alphabet, and they would have spared no resources in destroying everything the agency had worked for; everything **she** had worked for; all in the name of 'cooperation.' And she would most likely have spent the rest of her life rotting in a four-by-four, with nothing but her ill-gotten victory and petty satisfaction to keep her company.

And it was petty. She knew that. Killing the man responsible for her father's death wouldn't bring him back. Jasper Shepard, whatever else he may have done with his life, had loved his only daughter more than anything – of that much, Jenny was still certain. He wouldn't have wanted her to throw her life away on a revenge mission that would, when all was said and done, accomplish nothing. But she couldn't help it. If her father had loved her more than anything, she had loved him at least as much. He had been all she had had. She had been too young to understand that Mom was never coming back. But she had definitely been old enough to understand that Dad hadn't abandoned her. Jenny Shepard had clung to that knowledge like a lifeline as a child, and damned if as an adult she wasn't going to find **some** way to repay that to her father. Even if he never knew what she had done for him, she would know. She hoped that would be enough.

Nobody else at NCIS knew the truth about what had happened to her father. At least, she didn't think so. Tom Morrow had known that he had 'committed suicide.' Jenny had never bothered to correct him. Without evidence, she would have been dismissed as grieving; in denial; _obsessed_. She couldn't afford for rumours like that to get out, not then. She could afford it even less now, but it seemed that that particular decision had been taken from her hands. She would have to be careful from now on. DiNozzo would have to keep his secret even more secret than he had been doing. And she would have to stop relying on Jethro to pull her back down to earth. When she let him close enough to take hold, he got far deeper under her skin than she would like. He saw things; read things in her expression that she could hide from the rest of the world if she wanted to. Letting him get close was what she sometimes thought she wanted, but it was the one thing she knew she definitely couldn't risk trying to get. She would be making herself too vulnerable; too exposed. And Jethro would want to help, but he couldn't. Nobody could. She had figured that out a long time ago.

She would never admit it to him, but Jethro wasn't entirely wrong in his conclusions about the night's events. Maybe she did need to hate Benoit. She had been pursuing him for so long, allowing the hatred to fester … now it seemed that nothing was enough. Having Ziva shoot him would have been too easy. Too merciful. She wanted to torture him; drive him mad – the way he had driven her father to the edge and over it … And that was where Jeanne came into it. If Benoit was the kind of man Jenny thought he was, then using his daughter to get to him was the only thing that might catch him off-guard; maybe even scare him a little. And if it happened to affect him more deeply, then so be it. The man deserved a lot worse.

Jenny stopped in her tracks, feeling the blood slowly but surely drain from her face. She had never been this vindictive before, not even when it came to La Grenouille. It seemed that the longer it went on, the bitterer and more twisted she became about the whole thing. And bitter and twisted were two things that she had never expected to be. This case – or rather, this mission impossible – that she had set herself on, seemed doomed to drag her down until she couldn't pick herself up again. She supposed it was ironic, in some way. But not a good way.

She stood up, trying to shake herself out of the funk she had managed to get into, and crossed the room to the liquor cabinet. A stiff drink, sign off on the dreaded Canadian incident report, and then home for the night. She couldn't face any more than that. She reached for her decanter and then froze, frowning at it. It had only had two shots left in it the day before and now it was full of fresh bourbon. She opened the lid and sniffed it hesitantly, a small smile creeping over her face as she recognised the aroma. Jethro's brand. She didn't know how; she didn't know when – but somehow, the blasted man had gotten in here without her noticing and swapped out her almost empty bottle for a fresh one, even taking the time to empty it into her crystal carafe rather than just leave the bottle.

She poured herself a slightly larger than normal glass and resumed her seat behind her desk, staring blankly out of her window onto the Navy Yard and beyond. She really couldn't keep relying on Jethro to help her through these tough moments, even if he did it without her knowing until it was too late … and yet, she didn't want him to stop. He was certainly a strange sort of saviour, but he was the only one she had. And if she were to be totally honest with herself, she wouldn't trade him for anything.

**

* * *

**


End file.
